


Outlining the Fundementals

by Folle



Series: 47's Wacky Sex Adventure [2]
Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Makeouts, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mock Assassination, Pre-Games (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 13:59:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17184317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folle/pseuds/Folle
Summary: It was all fun and games for 47 before he learns the nuclear arms dealer he is posing as in an ICA trial is fronting as an escort. And his client is a very, very handsy man.





	Outlining the Fundementals

**Author's Note:**

> important update at the end!

The ICA wasn’t all what 47 dreamt it would be. In fact, it was far from anything he could have expected. What he _thought_ would happen was that it would have been a hell of a lot like the asylum he grew up in. That there would be a certain level of professionalism expected of them, and their performance and impressing the ICA was everyone’s top priority.

That everyone was going to be as stoic and serious as he was.

At first, that’s what the training facility felt like. He had no contact with any other trainees there, and everyone treated him coldly, and kept him at arms distance, even Diana, who had recruited him. It was easy to fall into the trappings of the asylum in a place that reflected it on such a shocking degree.

But then, 47 was cleared by the higher ups, and he could be fully accepted into the facility. He was given a new room, that he shared with three other people, was given full access to the cafeteria and training areas and was expected to fully co-operate with other recruits and handlers. Diana had told him that no matter how experienced he, or anyone else was, there was always something they could learn from other people.

And learn he did. A tiny, unassuming Chinese lady taught him how to craft his own bullets, and in return he taught her how to hit a target with a pistol without aiming. He learned from a chef on how to make apple seeds and honey into a poison no one could detect. Another recruit, a shockingly young girl, barely into adult hood, gave him useful pointers on how to stay awake longer than it would take to kill a normal person without feel the negative side effects, and he taught her the cleanest way to stab someone.

It was an interesting exchange, and despite being under the guise that he was a nearly unstoppable force, it humbled and grounded him. He didn’t know everything, but he could, and there was always something new he _could_ learn.

There was rarely a problem he encountered that he found he could not solve with a little patience, or stubbornness on occasion. And there was always a crew of extraordinarily talented assassins there to give him a small shove on the few occurrences where he could not solve a problem by himself; how to rebuff someone’s advances without giving himself away, for example, where his most prevalent problem early on in his days at the ICA. It was always a, ahem, “treat” when Soders found it fit to throw _that_ in on his training schedule.

Diana had assured him that it was simply another test, to gauge his improvement over the first few weeks training with the ICA. There was a large group of other trainees. They had all been given the same briefing; someone is intending to assassinate an important target at a masquerade ball. They had various tests themselves; figure out the target, or the assassin, or both, steal important documents, disguise themselves as high priority targets, and so on.

Agent 47 and the target were the only ones given completely unique briefings; kill the target, and avoid being killed. An important lesson if you were to avoid an adversary on your tail. It was simple enough for 47, a cake walk compared to some of the other, rigorous scenarios 47 has had to endure, or missions themselves. A flaunty ambassador who adored to show off his wealth, and was eagerly awaiting his anonymous escort, who was waiting for him in his private suite.

It was as simple as slip in, take down the contractor, disguise himself as him, then when the ambassador would feign interest in some novel topic while taking down any bugs, then would make a deal for an experimental uranium 232 powered missile, take him out in the dark before he realized that 47 wasn’t quite the man he was supposed to be, and he would be exposed.

It was similar to a time when he posed as a husband and smothered the wife when she came to bed. All too simple with the hefty dose of eszopiclone he slipped into her nightly glass of wine. Only more talking with an increasingly haughty man. Even if it was all an act, the man talked as if he owned the very Earth people walked on, and it was the authenticity of the act the slowly started to fry 47’s nerves.

It was just his luck that the nondescript contractor was a man, a _bald_ man, who wore a mask, a strip of black, almost lace like, fabric tied around his eyes. A run of the mill job, 47 thought as he slipped in through the fourth story window, simple enough to execute as long as he got the escort out of the way quick enough, took his mask, and got into place before the ambassador could make his circuit back.

A foam brick was all it took for the trainee to slump over, and begrudgingly let 47 drag him over to the bathroom wardrobe. It was a mild blessing for 47 that he didn’t have to swap suits, only his crimson tie for a deep teal one. As he heard footsteps approach from halls outside, he rushed to the bed, placing himself carefully on top of the duvets.

The ambassador slips into the dark, still room. 47 dares not disturb the dust suspended in the stuffy room. The only light coming in was a bright fluorescent from outside that illuminates 47’s profile.

“It is always a pleasure to see what fine specimens shall await me each night,” the ambassador slowly makes a lap around the room as he talks, occasionally fiddling with an object.  “The brothel has certainly outdone themselves this time,” the ambassador briefly strides over to 47, running a gentle caress across his cheekbones. “Such marvelous facial structure, such marvelous composure.”

The cogs inside 47’s head briefly stops turning when a thumb runs across his lips, pulling them down ever so slightly. This was outside of bounds. Soders specifically stated no intimate touching beyond brief hugs, and chaste pecks on the lips. Partially in due to the ICA’s rules against fraternization but as well as “sparing everyone their dignity and pride”, as Soders so eloquently put it.

It is hardly noticeable, but there was a slight tremble in his fingertips as he slides them across 47’s lips. Confidant, but not unshakable. Sure of himself, but not of his own actions. A telltale sign of someone following orders he does not believe in.

There is someone, it seems, who wantsto throw a wrench in 47’s trial.

The ambassador, hidden behind a white, full faced mask detailed in gold, eyes 47 up and down. The chill of his predatory gaze along 47’s body makes sparks run along his nerves. He gives one last pass before striding across the room to the mirror. There is a small snap as he runs his fingers along the back of it.

 _“It seems like all of the bugs in the room have been destroyed,”_ Diana pipes in his ear. _“It’s now or never.”_

“I believe you requested my presence about the missile you commissioned from my associates?”  47 smoothly crosses his legs, eyes trained on the barely illuminated form of the ambassador, who merely hums in response. “Construction has been progressing smoothly, and with luck it should be finished by next March.”

“I, sir, am a very impatient man who does not like to wait so long to play with his toys, as I am sure you are well aware of.” Despite the controlled meter of his voice, his words are sharp and acidic.

“Uranium 232 is quite unpredictable, we want to take our time to ensure your safety with the finished produc – “ The ambassador storms across the room and crowds himself between 47’s legs. In a quick motion, he tightens 47’s tie, enough to make breathing difficult, but not enough to cut off his supply entirely.

His hands briefly twitches at his sides but do not move. 47 has an inkling of an idea of where this is headed. 47 is handsome, and this was a fact he was well aware of. There is no counting the amount of times other trainees and agents had hit on him or made a passing move. His target is too close, if the light were at a different angle it would be plainly obvious that 47 is not the man he intended to meet.

“Cute, how you think I was referring to the missiles.” The ambassador’s fingers are nimble and slim as he unravels the knot on 47’s borrowed tie. “Are there going to be any objections, or can I continue on with our original plan?”

47 can feel the heat starting to rise in his gut when the ambassador runs a hand over the top and inside of 47’s trousers. Even with the wool acting as a barrier, he can still feel the warmth and firmness of the ambassador’s hand against his skin.

When his fingers start to graze against his groin, it is almost impulse for 47 to snap a hand out and grab his wrist. He… the times 47 has touched himself outside of a purely hygiene context are few and far between, and he can trust most of the agents and trainees here as far as he can throw them.

The ambassador grips him by his chin, tilting his head upwards. In the shadows it is nearly impossible to see anything but the silver outline against his profile. “ _Are_ there going to be any objections?”

Anything for a kill, right?

“No… sir,” he tacks onto the end, letting go of the ambassador’s wrist.

The gleam of light reflecting off of the ambassador's mask thins and slips away as details became more and more clear. The gold leaf details are crackling and flaking off, sprinkling his lapel with dots of glimmering gold. Only the slightest glimpse of his eyes are visible through the slits of the closed eyes of the mask, a cool, dark green, and long lashes. With crows feet and a soft sweep of shadows over his cheekbones from those lashes.

Too close, too close for 47 to pick up any details until there is a gentle, almost hesitant brush of thin chapped lips against his that made his spine go ram rod straight and very much impulsively grab the ambassador's shoulders. He is still for exactly two heartbeats before clutching his fingers into the back of the ambassador's blazer, tugging him forward, and tentatively slipping his tongue into his mouth.

The ambassador bucks his hips forward, forcing 47 to spread his legs wide to accommodate. He roughly shoves him down into the duvet, trailing his lips down 47's jaw before briefly and harshly sucking and nipping a spot on 47's neck. "You're absolutely divine," he groans hotly against the damp skin of the crook of his neck, rocking his hips up slowly. "The sounds you're making... They're testing all the self-control I have to not flip you over and fuck you into the mattress."

47 bites down on his tongue. The... noises? Although he was trained to not make a singular noise during torture, the pleasure that comes from... whatever this was made his lips like putty. "Then why don't you?" It takes a bit too long to get the words out and is a bit more breathless than he would have liked, but 47 challenged nevertheless.

Fingers chilled enough to raise goosebumps wrap around his wrists and pin them next to his head. "It would be my greatest pleasure, but I'd much rather see that gorgeous face of yours while I make you cum on my dick." His hands aren't long enough, but the ambassador just barely manages to hold both of 47's wrists pinned above his head. The other deftly unbuckles 47's belt. "But we don't have time for that, so shall I suggest we rub one out instead?"

His fingers bellow trail down the V of 47's groin, and brush along the root of his half-hard cock, which slightly twitched in attention. Even in the dim light, he can see the glint of teeth behind a wide grin. His fingers run lower and began to curl –  

47 rushes forward, slamming his forehead into the ambassador's nose. He stumbles backwards, enough for 47 to jab his knee directly into his solar plexus. His hand slips into his inside coat pocket, grabbing the push dagger and shoving the spring-loaded blade into his jugular. Instead of a gush of blood and gasping, guttering breaths, there is a sigh and slump against the rug.

The ambassador holds the plastic dagger to his neck, glaring as much as he could for a "corpse". "Shouldn't be surprised that it was the hooker that was waiting with the knife at my back."

"I prefer the term 'escort'." 47 coolly and calmly fixes his trousers and belt and straightens his tie.

He snorts and rolled his eyes. "Heh, sorry, the escort. Here's a tip for you, if you ever plan on sleeping with your target to kill them, don't let it get to far, and definitely don't let them be in the position of power."

47 pauses at his words, while slipping on his gloves. Another exchange, just more swapping of secrets of the trade. No less useful than crafting bullets, or making poison, or staying awake. 47 was nothing less than courteous. "Watch for fiber wire. It's just as deadly as a knife or gun, and won't be detected by guards."

He doesn't wait for a response, he rarely does, and slips out of the room through the window. The guards he knocked out were still stuffed in a crate, softly talking about a soccer match they watched. He crouches and swiftly moved past and through the gate. Another guard notes him leaving but did nothing about it. What else was there to say when he was clearly out of bounds for the ICA's game?

 _"I would heed that tip, 47,"_ Diana chirped from his earpiece. _"And as another tip, please do try to remember to mute your microphone before you do any elicit activities. I don't need to know everon-_ everything _you do."_

A brief rush of heat rises to his cheeks, a feeling he isn’t quite familiar with but is certain he knows the name of. The dimly lit halls of the ICA training facility do well to hide any color. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, next time.”

Will there be a next time? It is a question to ponder. Too messy, too much time around the target, more time for someone to recognize him. But the rush? There’s something about deception he can’t help but find amusing.

**Author's Note:**

> hush hush, before you all come for my head, I have been very busy sleeping and crying, too busy to write fics
> 
> and don't worry, the spicy italian man will be back soon, I promise, in like two fics or something lol.
> 
> also i stayed up til 930 am, no sleep, to finish this so if there are some parts where the wording doesnt make much sense i apologize.
> 
> update: i dont know who i want 47 to get oral from in my next fic help: http://www.strawpoll.me/17139545


End file.
